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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264991">Chicken Soup for a Special Child’s Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybuttertea/pseuds/honeybuttertea'>honeybuttertea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Din Djarin, honey i gave baby yoda coronavirus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:29:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybuttertea/pseuds/honeybuttertea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grogu can’t stop coughing. A frantic Din Djarin searches for bad medical advice in unlikely places.</p><p>The (questionable) advice and insights of Din’s friends and companions on health and childcare.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Bantha Milk, Bacta, and Hair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had to be Peli.</p><p>If anyone Din knew could cure a baby of the common cold, it had to be Peli. </p><p>Assumedly, this was only a common cold, and not something catastrophic and horrific like his mind was telling him it was.</p><p>It had all started on the ship—Din had noticed it during a long night on the Crest. They’d been settled in the bunk together, hurtling through hyperspace. Grogu resting in his tiny hammock, and Din crunched up below him on the uncomfortable cot. </p><p>It’d been a long day with no rest, a grueling hunt that left him with bruised ribs and the need to sleep off the aches in his body. He’d gotten the kid ready for bed as quickly as he could and settled in for a long rest.</p><p>He was on the edge of sleep when he heard it—a pained wheeze, crackling almost, coming from above him. Then came the coughing fit that had sent Din into a frantic mess.</p><p>Grogu made a little cry as he woke himself up, sounding so pitiful and helpless. </p><p>“It’s okay, kid,” Din told him, flipping on the lights and reaching up to hold him.</p><p>Grogu’s cries got louder as he reached out for his dad. His little face screwed into a painful expression.</p><p>“Shhhhh,” Din exhaled, tucking the child into his arms and starting to bounce him.</p><p>The child’s skin looked a paler green than usual, his ears were drooping, and his breathing sounded labored. The last couple days of Grogu’s fussiness and lack of sleep had started to make sense. </p><p>He coughed, dramatically, as Din rubbed his forehead as gently as he could.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>Din paced the hull, trying to form a clear picture of the situation. His mind catastrophized the predicament all too easily.</p><p>The child was sick. It was, assumedly, Din’s fault. He was a terrible father, not cut out for this at all. No life for a kid, he thought. No life for a kid.</p><p>He cursed under his breath. What could he do? He knew nothing about medicine beyond first aid. He could patch up a blaster wound, solder shut a knife slice— he’d done it on himself a handful of times. Even broken bones and separated shoulders were fixable. </p><p>But a cold? The flu? Completely unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick that way. The helmet spared him from most germs, and his refusal to indulge in any self pity carried him the rest of the way. He’d gotten a nasty rash once from a plant he’d touched during a hunt on Felucia, but that went away after a few months of dutiful neglect.</p><p>Now, he couldn’t ignore the warning signs. He was responsible for another life. A small, green, bug-eared life that was currently whining like a baby kowak in his arms.</p><p>The weight of his responsibility as a father swung like a hammer over his head at all times. He’d catch himself in a near panic over the littlest things when it came to the kid. </p><p>Was he eating enough? Too much? </p><p>Was his diet okay? </p><p>How often should he be bathed? </p><p>Is he not spoken to enough? </p><p>Is that why he doesn’t talk yet?</p><p>Does he even like being around me?</p><p>Din couldn’t bear to face the enormity of what he didn’t know. </p><p>When he had these questions, he’d bring the topic up casually in coversations with his friends and hope he could glean some nugget of wisdom.</p><p>He thought this was a subtle technique—but he was very wrong.</p><p>When Grogu had swallowed so many of the kind passenger’s eggs, he panicked about the kid’s digestion. Maybe he wasn’t evolved to eat so much of something so rich.</p><p>The next day, when he sat across from Karga and Cara in a restaurant on Nevarro, he tried as subtly as he could to glean their opinions on the egg dilemma.</p><p>Karga was making the usual small talk and receiving Din’s standard two or three-word replies to his questions. Cara had regaled them with a story of a skirmish outside of town with an imp.</p><p>Din had waited patiently for a lull in the conversation to ask them his question as subtly as he could.</p><p>“Eggs,” Din had said unceremoniously, “What do you... think about that?” </p><p>His eyes shifted between Greef and Cara, trying to catch a hint of any expression he could. Any cue that would tell him eggs were good or bad for a rapidly growing 50 year old magical child.</p><p>Both of his friends had looked at him like he had bugs crawling out of his eyes.</p><p>“Think about... eggs?” Karga questioned.</p><p>“What’s wrong with you?” Cara’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>Din sighed and explained the situation, and Karga laughed so hard he nearly choked on his spotchka.</p><p>It was endearing to them how little composure or confidence he had in his parenting abilities, when he was so obviously suited to the role.</p><p>Din did have good friends. The thought felt foreign sometimes, and comforting at others. Grogu had opened him to that. He felt like a magnet now, attracting people in search of something.</p><p>And though many of his friends were admitted scoundrels, at least one of them had to know something about childcare.</p><p>He was only a quick jump from Tattooine, and Peli was the obvious first choice for advice on curing his son.</p><p>She was so talented at finding and fixing problems with the ship, and what was the body but a different kind of machine? She cared for droids which were... kind of like organic beings, he supposed. They required maintenance, at the least. And there was just something caring about her, beneath the rough exterior. She felt like the right pick in the moment.</p><p>Grogu wheezed again, as if telling Din to hurry it up. He punched in coordinates and held the child tighter to his chest while they jumped into hyperspace.</p><p>Tattooine loomed in front of them, all sand and wind storms.</p><p>“Entering atmosphere when cleared for landing, please advise,” he spoke into the receiver, directing the message to Peli’s hangar.</p><p>Her reply came back a few minutes later.</p><p>“Advised, come in slow, and no funny business with the landing.”</p><p>Din felt himself smirking. As soon as her reply cleared, he lowered the ship into the atmosphere.</p><p>When the Crest touched down on Tattooine, Din was clutching the child to his chest, bouncing him up and down in as calming a motion as he could manage. He didn’t even bother to grab his blaster as he left the ship. </p><p>Peli was waiting for them at the edge of the hatch, hands on her hips, squinting into the direct sunlight. She looked the same as she always did, frizzy mop of hair, stained jumpsuit, grease on her fingers.</p><p>“What are you doing here with your ship looking this good?” She kicked the edge of the ramp.</p><p>Her words took him aback for a moment. Repairing the ship was typically the only reason he’d see Peli.</p><p>“I’m not here for the ship,” Din clarified, stepping onto the sand and closing the hatch.</p><p>He held Grogu out to her at arms length, hoping she could see the problem and spare him the need for explanation.</p><p>Grogu let out a pathetic wheeze, giant eyes drooping in the saddest expression possible.</p><p>“You’re here because your kid is sick?” she looked incredulous.</p><p>This was suddenly much more embarassing than he’d thought it would be. </p><p>“Do you—,” he started, unsure of himself, “Can you help him?”</p><p>Peli gave him a look that oozed confidence. She took Grogu into her arms and gave him an affectionate squeeze.</p><p>“Come here, you little womp rat.”</p><p>She inspected the kid from head to toe. Something about the way she looked at him reminded Din of the way she’d diagnose problems with the Razor Crest. She sat him on her work bench and inspected his breathing, his skin— even put a little scope inside one of his ears.</p><p>“Seems to me like he’s got the sand in his lungs,” she shot Din a smug look as he paced the room.</p><p>Sand in his lungs?</p><p>“Is that... literal?”</p><p>She shrugged, “He’s sick, kids just get sick sometimes. It shouldn’t be anything to really worry about— as long as you treat it.”</p><p>Treat it. Those words sent fear shooting up his spine.</p><p>“How do I treat it?”</p><p>She took a deep breath and looked up, like she was lost in thought.</p><p>“Heat a cup of bantha milk and stir it with a pinch of bacta,” she told him.</p><p>Din nodded in agreement. This was exactly the kind of advice he’d hoped she could give him. He made a mental note of where he kept bacta on the ship, as well as where in town he could find someone selling bantha milk.</p><p>Peli’s voice pulled him out of these thoughts.</p><p>“Once it’s hot, mix in two of the kid’s hairs and one of yours.”</p><p>Din blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right.</p><p>“Did you say... hairs?”</p><p>She nodded vigorously, “Hairs from the top of the head work best, if you have them under that thing,” she waved vaguely at his helmet.</p><p>Was she really telling him to make the child swallow his own hair?</p><p>Grogu looked to his father for reassurance as she spoke, reaching out for him. Din held out his hand and let the child grab onto his thumb.</p><p>“Are you writing this down?” she squinted, crossing her arms. </p><p>He didn’t respond. Every moment she continued made him uneasier.</p><p>“You’re gonna wanna stir it all in a clockwise motion until the bacta dissolves. Then let it set somewhere dark until the hairs settle at the bottom of the glass.”</p><p>Din nodded, hoping she couldn’t sense his skepticism under the helmet.</p><p>“Once it’s ready, make sure he drinks it in three gulps exactly. Do not let him drink it in five, then you’ll really need a doctor,” she warned them both, wagging her finger at the child.</p><p>He waited to see if she was finished. Mercifully, she didn’t give him any more instructions.</p><p>“Thank you,” he finally spoke, knowing he wouldn’t follow any of these directions. His mind was already whirring with options of who else he could ask for advice.</p><p>“Did you get that all?” she challenged, “Repeat it back.”</p><p>Panic rose in his chest again. </p><p>“Bantha milk and bacta,” he began, repeating the ingredients he felt had actual potential to help.</p><p>“Then?” she raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Three hairs— no, two hairs from his head,” he swallowed. “One hair from... my head.” The words sounded incredibly sarcastic.</p><p>She nodded cautiously. “What direction do you stir?”</p><p>“Cl— clockwise,” he continued, “Stir clockwise.”</p><p>“Very good,” she relaxed slightly. “Now how many gulps does he drink it in once it settles?”</p><p>Din’s face was red under the helmet. This was the point he’d completely zoned out after. He’d been caught red handed.</p><p>“Fffffffffiii—,” he began, but was interrupted by a look of shock and anger on Peli’s face.</p><p>She opened her mouth to yell at him.</p><p>“Thhhhhrrr—,” he started again, hoping he’d corrected the mistake.</p><p>She nodded in relief.</p><p>“Three,” he told her with confidence now.</p><p>“So help me Maker, if you let him drink it in five gulps,” she warned him.</p><p>He shook his head, “Three, three gulps.”</p><p>Peli finally looked satisfied with his comprehension. She handed him the child, who sniffled and snuggled into his dad’s chest.</p><p>Din started to turn to leave the hangar, but was stopped yet again by one of Peli’s outbursts.</p><p>“Well don’t run off just yet,” she tossed her hands in the air.</p><p>She went into a back room for a moment, and reemerged with a bottle.</p><p>“Here’s some bantha milk,” she offered him. “For the kiddo.”</p><p>He took the smooth metal bottle and nodded to her, genuinely grateful for her well intentioned gift and advice.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Let me know if it works,” she called after him.</p><p>He turned for the ship, wanting to leave the conversation and situation as soon as possible.</p><p>“Remember!” she shouted, “THREE GULPS!”</p><p>The hatch of the ship shut closed, and Din breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>The ship pulled into a lazy orbit around Tattooine, allowing Din time to pause and consider his next moves.</p><p>His heart was still pounding. Why was this all so scary for him? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so worried about something. Every fight and scrape he got into he eventually got out of, wounds notwithstanding. Fighting, hunting, even killing when it was necessary left him largely unaffected. It was the caring for something that made his heart race. The gentleness it all required.</p><p>Grogu made a fussy noise that Din translated as, “I’m hungry, feed me something before I make it your problem.”</p><p>He heated the bantha milk on a burner and poured it into Grogu’s favorite mug.</p><p>One of his hairs had found its way onto his jumpsuit. He shuddered at the thought of feeding it to the kid. Who’d have thought Peli could be so superstitious? He’d misjudged her.</p><p>Grogu seemed to enjoy the drink, and a little color returned to his face.</p><p>“Feelin better, kid?” he asked, patting his forehead as he took away the empty mug.</p><p>Maybe it was just bad nutrition that had made him sick. Eating rations wasn’t ideal for long periods, even if it had sustained Din well enough over the years. Grogu was growing—he must’ve needed more substantial foods to eat.</p><p>Soon, the child was holding out his arms to be picked up. He let out a sleepy gurgle as Din cradled him in the cockpit chair.</p><p>The child fell asleep against his chest, head snuggled into the warmest part of his father’s neck. </p><p>It would be okay, Din told himself. Everything would be okay. He took care of the kid, and the kid took care of him. That’s how it had to be. </p><p>He didn’t need to know everything about the kid—he couldn’t know everything. Caring for him and doing what he could would have to be enough.</p><p>A loud wheeze woke them both from their comfortable sleep.</p><p>“No, no, no,” Din whispered to himself, standing up with the child, bouncing him gently.</p><p>Grogu launched into another coughing fit, his whole body shaking with each cough.</p><p>Din’s brain returned to panic. Bantha milk wasn’t enough. Should he try bacta? What if he didn’t get the dose right? What if it did more harm than good?</p><p>He pulled off his glove and held the back of his hand to Grogu’s forehead, trying to gauge his temperature. Usually, when he gave the kid baths he noticed that his green skin was a little bit cooler than average— at least cooler than his own body temperature.</p><p>Now, he was burning hot, like a little wood stove in his arms.</p><p>“What am I gonna do with you?” he mumbled to the kid, who was crying against his chest now, a mess of tiny little sobs and sniffles.</p><p>Din pulled up the map of Tattooine. He did know a number of people there, especially sand people, though he expected they’d be hard to find. He respected their people greatly, and he knew they had a solid understanding of medicine when it came to healing their own.</p><p>Grogu was always the catch. He was an anomaly, an unknown being. What kind of anatomy did he even have? Din was assuming he had two lungs that worked the way his did, but nothing could be accurately assumed across species. The medicine of one race could mean nothing to another.</p><p>Mos Pelgo, a marker Din had left himself, glowed red on the map in front of him. Would Cobb know anything about children? He hardly seemed paternal.</p><p>Even then, the town was growing now that the krayt dragon had been slain. Maybe the town had a doctor now, or he could be pointed in the right direction to one.</p><p>The child let out a whine, staring at his father with eyes that melted him down to his bones. </p><p>When the child looked at him that way, he was helpless to the child’s whims. No amount of stubborness could hold up to those giant eyes.</p><p>“Dank ferrik,” he muttered, punching in coordinates again.</p><p>Mos Pelgo it was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Spotchka?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Please just sleep.”</p><p>Grogu was pouting in the cockpit seat, wriggling his arms everytime his father tried to put a blanket over his little body.</p><p>They’d almost arrived at Mos Pelgo, and Din had reached a new level of exhaustion and frustration. His flying was lazy and careless, probably attracting the wrong attention from people below.</p><p>He’d landed the Crest a short distance from town and crossed his fingers no Jawas would be tempted by it. He wasn’t planning on staying long anyway—just finding Cobb and asking if he had any advice or leads on a good medic nearby.</p><p>Mos Pelgo looked different than he’d remembered it. The twin suns were beginning to set above the buildings, signalling the end of the workday.</p><p>A heavy wheeze reminded him of his mission as he ambled through the sandy streets.</p><p>Grogu hadn’t improved at all. He was still fevered, and his breathing was just heartbreaking to listen to. Like his body couldn’t handle whatever was happening to it.</p><p>“Hang in there,” Din whispered to him, tucking him further into the crook of his arm.</p><p>The Marshall’s Office, newly minted, was closed for the evening, with its windows completely shuttered to keep the sand out.</p><p>Din figured the best place to look for Cobb at this time of day was his favorite tavern. He crossed his fingers that the marshall hadn’t started drinking already.</p><p>Surely, Vanth was seated at the bar, recounting a story to a group of miners. </p><p>As Din swung the doors open, all eyes turned to him. He was used to making entrances like this, but it hadn’t become more comfortable over the years.</p><p>“Well looky here, barkeep,” Cobb shot him a winning smile, standing from his stool. “An old friend’s come to town.” </p><p>Din nodded to him and the bartender, shifting his weight as he walked over to them.</p><p>Cobb looked more put together than before, with less sand and stains on his clothing. Din wondered whether the growth of the town had affected his role as Marshall. More responsibility, more of a need to look professional. His easygoing personality seemed to remain unchanged.</p><p>Cobb extended a hand to shake, and Din shifted the child in his arms to accept it.</p><p>“Marshall,” Din greeted simply. </p><p>“Mando,” he nodded to him. “Good to see ya.”</p><p>The patrons returned to their drinks and conversations, some whispering now about the Mandalorian’s daring defeat of the krayt dragon all those months ago. </p><p>“Is this a social call?” Cobb asked, confused by his sudden presence.</p><p>Din didn’t respond. His awkward encounter explaining his reason for coming to Peli’s hangar hadn’t left him eager to tell Cobb as well.</p><p>Cobb was unphased by Din’s typical silence and poured two shots of liquor, sliding one across the bar to his friend.</p><p>Din declined the drink, as expected.</p><p>“Always a straight shooter,” he acknowledged. He took both shots to a table and motioned for Din to sit down with him.</p><p>“I’m here for him,” Din clarified, gently setting Grogu on the table in front of them.</p><p>The child let out a whine at being moved from his father’s arms so abruptly.</p><p>Cobb looked the child over, squinting a little at his red eyelids and drooping ears.</p><p>“What’s wrong with the little guy?” Cobb pointed at Grogu, who was trying to bury his face in Din’s chest.</p><p>The child let out a little cough, like he knew he was being talked about. The sound made Din’s chest twinge again. Fresh panic hit everytime he heard the noise.</p><p>“Have you heard of... sand in the lungs?” Din’s voice sounded grave.</p><p>Cobb laughed, "Old timers will call anything sand in the lungs. Someone gets an arm amputated and people will say the fella had sand in his lungs.”</p><p>Din had guessed as much, but wanted to be sure.</p><p>“So the little guy’s sick?” Cobb’s eyebrows raised.</p><p>“He has a fever, and keeps coughing.”</p><p>Grogu wheezed loud enough to attract the attention of the patrons sitting near them.</p><p>“I’m not great with kids— I’ll be the first to make that clear,” Cobb addmitted, though this still didn’t seem like a humble admission. “But we do have a medic in town that might have a word or two for you. If you’d be inclined.”</p><p>Din nodded, feeling an immediate sense of relief. He had been hoping someone with a level of medical expertise could give him an opinion.</p><p>“Let’s catch her before the suns go down,” Cobb proposed, “Barkeep— don’t let anyone take my table.”</p><p>Cobb led Din to the edge of town, past a row of newly constructed homes and businesses. Families sat on their porches, sharing the evening meal together. Many nodded to them as they walked by.</p><p>“The town is growing,” Din commented, his attempt at polite small talk.</p><p>Cobb smiled, “We’re proud of it. Good to see a little excitement now and again.” </p><p>Something was wistful, almost burdened about his demeanor. Din wondered silently whether Cobb was sick himself. Just overworked, he figured. Overwhelmed by having so many new people to keep track of.</p><p>“Here she is,” the marshall stopped in front of a large tent, decorated with intricate weaved cloths.</p><p>Grogu made an apprehensive noise, like he knew a doctor’s appointment was ahead. Din gave him a reassuring pat on his back.</p><p>“Meet our new medic,” Cobb introduced, lifting the tent flap for him.</p><p>A sand woman stood before them, dressed in heavy robes. She politely greeted them in strained basic. </p><p>“Marshall.”</p><p>Din was surprised to see the townspeople had accepted her presence in town, but pleased by the thought.</p><p>He was intentional to greet her in her language.</p><p>“My child,” Din signed, “Broken breathing.”</p><p>She reached out for the baby, who cried out at being pulled away from his father. She shushed him gently and listened to his lungs.</p><p>Grogu calmed down eventually, soothed by the medic’s gentle voice. She inspected him with much more care than Peli had, like he was an actual child and not a machine.</p><p>“Skin is hot,” she signed to Din. “Warm water,” she motioned to illustrate a bath. “Break fever.”</p><p>Din nodded, understanding her advice. A warm bath would break the fever and help his body heal.</p><p>The woman shook her head gently, looking confused and resigned.</p><p>“Never seen this kind,” she signed, “Not sure of problem.”</p><p>Grogu looked up at her, comfortable now with her presence. She gave him a reassuring pat on his head.</p><p>“Very sorry,” she spoke in basic tongue. The words sounded strained in her voice, but genuine.</p><p>Din was disappointed, but he had expected this outcome— it was the case for most everyone he met. The child was unknown— a stranger to everyone but him.</p><p>He thanked her anyway, in her language. A hot bath for the child sounded like a helpful idea, if a messy one.</p><p>Cobb held up the tent flap as they exited together, Grogu letting out a fresh wheeze as sand blew towards them outside.</p><p>“What did she say?” Cobb asked immediately.</p><p>“Have you not learned their language yet?” Din sounded disappointed in him.</p><p>Cobb rolled his eyes, “Okay there, Protocol Droid, I’ve heard your Jawa impression, and it didn’t impress me much.”</p><p>Din glared at him under the helmet. A cheap blow.</p><p>“She said he needs a warm bath to break the fever,” he explained. “But she’s never seen his kind. Doesn’t know how to help.”</p><p>Cobb shook his head, “He’s a little mystery, huh.”</p><p>They returned to the tavern he’d found Cobb in once again. The mood had quieted significantly with nightfall as patrons headed home for dinner.</p><p>“Usually when a kid gets sick they just need some sleep,” Cobb continued to give Din his wisdom.</p><p>“He doesn’t want to sleep,” Din corrected him, thinking about how stubbornly the child had refused to cuddle up with him earlier.</p><p>“That’s where medicine comes in,” Cobb clarified. “They need something to help them sleep.”</p><p>Din’s eyes narrowed. He was suspicious of what Cobb would suggest next.</p><p>“What kind of metabolism is he working with there?” he squinted at the child, like he was sizing him up.</p><p>Grogu made a pitiful face and looked up at his father, like he was asking why the marshall was looking at him funny.</p><p>“What do you say barkeep, a quarter shot of spotchka?”</p><p>The Weequay squinted at the child in appraisal. “I’d say an eighth to be safe.”</p><p>Din’s head tilted in disapproval. Calling on Cobb Vanth had been a long shot from the jump, because he’d expected this exact kind of frontier-medicine style advice.</p><p>Under no circumstances would he be giving the child alcohol. This was entirely out of the question. He would try Peli’s sorcery before trying that.</p><p>“I appreciate your help,” Din nodded to him, looking for the exit to the bar.</p><p>“Hey—,” Cobb stopped him before leaving. </p><p>Din turned around to hear him out.</p><p>“Make sure he sleeps on his belly,” Cobb demonstrated with his hands. “Lets the lungs drain.”</p><p>This seemed like sound advice— a change of pace.</p><p>“In most creatures, I suppose,” Cobb backtracked. “Who knows what kind of breathing sack the little guy has.”</p><p>Din nodded, actually considering the advice. It could help—potentially.</p><p>“And take this,” he reached behind the bar for a small bottle of a red liquid.</p><p>Din looked over the tiny vial, reading “Spotchka, Distillery of Mos Pelgo.”</p><p>“I’m not giving him alcohol,” he clarified, completely deadpan.</p><p>Cobb winked, “This isn’t for him.”</p><p>Din glared at him under the helmet again, to no effect.</p><p>Cobb’s grin just grew.</p><p>“Now Mandalorian, it’s past sundown and I’ve got some drinkin— or thinkin I mean, to get to,” he told him, relaxing down into his chair.</p><p>Din nodded to him, turning for the swinging doors. “Have a good night.”</p><p>“Always a pleasure,” Cobb tipped his drink to him as he walked out.</p><p>Din pocketed the bottle and shook his head. The man was so dramatic, always narrating what he saw. Why did he have to talk so much? Din didn’t understand it. And giving him alcohol? He was muttering to himself under the helmet.</p><p>The moment he’d pulled the Crest into orbit, he picked up the kid and headed towards the pullout water spicket he used for a fresher.</p><p>“Bath time, kid.”</p><p>He filled a basin with hot water and got a set of towels ready.</p><p>Grogu whined terribly at the prospect of a bath. This was his least favorite activity normally, and with a fever and cough, it sounded exponentially worse.</p><p>“I know,” Din acknowledged, pulling off the little brown jacket and submerging the child in the warm water.</p><p>Din reached for the children’s body wash— a luxury he’d found in a bigger city on Akiva. He inspected Grogu’s skin for any rashes or other indications of sickness, but didn’t find anything to worry himself about. </p><p>The kid seemed to be tolerating the bath okay, better than usual.</p><p>Din started humming absently, trying to comfort the kid and fill the silence space left.</p><p>Grogu accidentally splashed him, feet kicking the water up. A splash landed right on his visor.</p><p>Din made a disgusted noise. “Gross.”</p><p>“Mueh?” the child asked, toothy grin on his lips.</p><p>It was the first time he’d seen the kid smile in days. His chest twinged at the sight.</p><p>Din splashed the kid back, harder this time.</p><p>Grogu gurgled happily, little teeth on display.</p><p>“Okay, troublemaker,” Din grumbled, draining the bath and toweling off the giant ears and wrinkly skin.</p><p>He wrapped the child in one of his undershirts, a shell he wore under the jumpsuit on cold planets. The sleeves worked as swaddling, holding his little arms tight to his body.</p><p>They settled in the bunk together, Din propped up against the wall. He held Grogu to his chest while he got ready to sleep, face down.</p><p>He removed his glove to feel the child’s forehead. It was still warm, maybe less so, but only slightly.</p><p>Din pat his back gently, trying to break up whatever was coating his little lungs.</p><p>Grogu hacked dramatically, sounding almost like he was choking.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he comforted the child, reaching up to see what he’d been choking on.</p><p>Green mucus coated Din’s cape.</p><p>This was new. And not good.</p><p>Panic rose up again. He scrambled to think of who else would be closeby.</p><p>Fett went to Tattooine often, but he didn’t expect him to have experience with children.</p><p>His mind flashed to Fennec, how Boba had healed her. He had to have knowledge of medicine, of the healing process at the least.</p><p>The way the child’s sickness was forcing him to be more social than ever before wasn’t lost on him. </p><p>He scrambled into the cockpit, cradling the kid, fumbling for the comm.</p><p>“Slave I, this is the Razor Crest, do you copy?”</p><p>Din felt ridiculous speaking like this over the comm. He should’ve just sent a holo message. Do you copy? Who even says that?</p><p>“Copy, this is Slave I,” Fennec’s voice came through the receiver. “What’re we looking at, Mando?”</p><p>Din sighed. Explaining the situation was quickly becoming his least favorite part of each encounter.</p><p>“The child is sick, I wanted to know if Fett can find what’s wrong with him.”</p><p>A longer silence elapsed.</p><p>Boba’s voice came through the comm. “Meet us at these coordinates in six hours.”</p><p>Din exhaled in relief. Grogu whimpered.</p><p>“Don’t worry, kid,” he shushed him, rubbing his wrinkly forehead. “We’ll get you fixed up.”</p>
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